


Stolen

by Evie_G



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Headcanon, I Don't Even Know, Modern Girl in Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Relationship(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, WTF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evie_G/pseuds/Evie_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas let out a long, exasperated sigh and shook his head. “Sera, this is Rosie, please do not play any of your pranks on her”.</p>
<p>“You,” she glared at Solas, “Baldy, don’t get to pick who I don’t play pranks on alright?”</p>
<p>I tried to stifle my laughter but it snorted out of my nose. <em>Baldy!</em> Sera looked at me, the playful laughter fading from her voice. “So you just fell out of the Fade like nobody's business? Like the Inquisitor, except shite because you don't have a glowy hand and you can't save the world. If you're another Creepy then I'm leaving”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This Modern-Girl-In-Thedas story has been rattling around my head for a while, inspired by the fantastic examples available here on this site. And it always started with a hangover...  
> Let me know what you think.  
> 

My head was pounding so hard that I didn’t dare open my eyes to the sunlight just beyond them. My mouth was dry with the taste of Jägermeister and I was on the verge of being sick. I reeked of alcohol. What did I  _do_  last night? The memories were so hazy; I could remember dinner with my friends, copious amounts of wine then cocktails then shots. So many shots!

Cracking one eye open as wide as I dared, I winced at the sharp light. Panic shot through me as I realised I wasn’t at home. There was no one in bed with me and I still had my underwear on, even if that was all I was wearing. I could remember talking to a guy at the bar but I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I had left with him. I looked around the room furtively, through barely cracked eyes. It was an odd room, old fashioned stone walls with wooden furniture and homespun blankets. It was clean, but it smelled almost musty or disused, like the air was too thick. There were no identifying features, no personal belongings but it didn’t  _feel_  like it belonged to a twenty-something male. A thought hit me that whoever he was might still live with his parents. Urgh.

I sat up and immediately regretted it. The room spun and bile rose in my throat but I managed to get a hold of myself. This was quite possibly the worst hangover I’d ever had. All I wanted to do was to find my things and get the hell out of here, then snuggle up on my sofa and watch Netflix with a tub of ice cream. There were a few hindrances to this plan, namely that I didn’t know where the hell I was or where the rest of my things were. There was no sign of my clothes, handbag or phone. I started to panic in earnest. My heart was already having palpitations from my hangover but now it was doing triple time. A cold sweat broke out over my body, increasing my feeling of pure wretchedness. Something was very wrong.

I gingerly started to push myself out of the bed when I heard a commotion outside. Raised voices barely carried through the stone walls, but I could tell that someone was approaching. Gathering the blankets around myself, I looked for another way out; a place to hide, anything. The door opened and I froze. In stepped the most unusual looking person with the shiniest looking bald head I had ever seen. He walked slowly, carefully around the bed, maintaining a good distance from me though he was still close enough for me to catch his bright blue eyes and elongated ears.  _WTF?_  Not to mention the threadbare tunic, leggings and weirdly wrapped socks.

My breathing became fast and shallow and I recognised that I was on the verge of a panic attack. I was shaking and I had bitten through the inside of my bottom gum to stop my lips from trembling, so much that the coppery taste of blood filtered through my fuzzy mouth. My mind raced; I felt as though my need to escape was at war with all the black thoughts of what could happen to me if I didn’t get out. That primal fight or flight reflex mean that I couldn’t focus on any one particular thing, other than the overwhelming sensation that something awful was about to happen. I wanted to scream for help, I wanted to race through the only door, I wanted to punch that weird looking fucker in the face. But I was frozen in place.

The sound of his voice broke my fragmented thoughts, though I couldn’t understand what he was saying. His language was unlike anything I had heard before, lilting and vowel heavy through his soothing tones. I could tell that he was trying very hard not to make me any more panicked than I already was, but he was failing spectacularly. His posture was straight and relaxed, arms hanging loose by his sides, but there was an air of readiness about him. As if he could handle anything I could throw at him. In that instant I knew that if he attacked me, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

He was still talking slowly, calmly, brows pulled together as he realised I wasn’t understanding what he was saying. Then the language changed, became more fluid and melodious.

I shook my head, trying not to vomit from the sudden movement. “English? Why aren’t you speaking English?” I asked, my voice quivering. Where the hell was I if they didn’t speak English here?  _Oh God oh God oh God._

The pounding in my head continued and my limbs refused to stop shaking. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand to find that they were damp with the beginnings of tears. I bit the inside of my gum again but that only hastened the sob that had been building inside. Pulling the blanket further up so it covered half of my face, I wiped away the tears that were spilling down my cheeks. The man made shushing noises and moved closer then sat on the edge of the bed at my feet.

“No!” I screamed, moving as far away from him as I could so that my back slammed against the cold stone wall. “No no no no no, please, please don’t touch me!” Sobs wracked through me again, so hard that I could barely catch my breath. He ignored my pleas and edged closer, quickly catching both my wrists and pinning me in place. I screamed. I screamed and I screamed and I  _screamed_. He kept trying to shush me as I struggled against his strong grip, thrashing about like a wild thing. When green light began to glow between my wrists and his fist, I shrieked and fought even harder. It felt like ants crawling all over me. I felt them scratching painfully under my skin, inching up my arms, settling in my scream-raw throat. My lungs were on fire, as though I had been drinking bleach, but I kept on screaming as though the noise was being ripped from me through the flames. Whatever he was doing, I could feel it moving through me, damaging me,  _changing_  me. The pain was exploding behind my eyes, burning fireworks into my retinas, punching through my lungs like a knife againandagainandagain. Every muscle was tense, flexed, almost tearing in two.

And suddenly it stopped.

_Oh God, it stopped._

I sagged against the cool of the wall, utterly useless, my breaths coming in dry, spasmodic hitches. My captor had retreated to the far side of the room, panting and sweating as he clutched the dresser for support. His fingerprints were there on me darkening by the second, drawing my eyes to this tiny speckling of evidence. Every rasping inhale was torture. I had no idea what had just happened, but I felt violated in every way.

“You can speak in the Common tongue now,” he said after he’d caught his breath. And I understood him as though he was speaking English.

His soft accent reminded me too much of home. I felt my stomach heave and I barely had enough time to turn before I vomited down the side of the bed. Tears burned in my eyes as the bile burned my raw throat. After my retching subsided, I wiped my eyes and mouth with the back of my hand. Looking up, I saw that the man had left but the lingering echo of what had happened remained, like my screams were reverberating against the walls. But what  _had_  happened?

I sat wrapped in the strange blankets with my head in my hands, wallowing in my wretchedness, trying not to think about what was going on, or the itch at the back of my throat. _Oh God, please just let me get through this_  I thought, over and over again.  _Please let that be it_.

I jumped out of my skin when I heard the door open and close. The same stranger had come back, balancing a pile of clothes, a platter of food and a wooden tankard in his arms. He carefully placed everything on the dresser except the mug which he extended towards me. I looked at it warily, not taking it from him, half tempted to knock it out of his hands. But it was though my arms were locked in place, my body was not cooperating with me. Once again, I found myself frozen, unable to even speak. I had no idea what was happening or if the man in front of me had other  _things_ planned. I prayed harder than I had ever in my life before.

“It’s an elfroot tonic, it will settle your stomach,” he said in that soft voice. He placed the tankard on the bed next to me and set about cleaning the floor.

I peered into the cup at the thick, greenish liquid that seemed to be giving off a grass-like smell.

“Drink,” he urged again, looking up at me.

I battled with myself, thinking that if he wanted to kill me then poison seemed an unlikely choice. I was thirsty and my raw throat was aching. But I had no idea what elfroot was. In a moment of sheer stupidity I gulped it down, trying not to taste it. As soon as I drank, I felt it soothe my throat. I could feel the coolness hitting my stomach, relaxing it. It even seemed to ease my headache.

“Better?” he asked. I nodded slowly in response, my neck stiff from trying not to shake. “Good. My name is Solas. I found you wandering around in the woods last night and I brought you here for safety”.

I had no recollection of being in a wood. There weren’t even any woods near where I lived, not for miles. I wet my lips, my mind slowly focusing through the haze of sheer terror, finally catching up with what was happening. I needed to learn everything I could about where I was and who was holding me captive to help any chance of escape. I still didn’t know if this Solas meant me harm, but I needed to keep him talking.

“Where is here exactly?” I asked quietly, my voice trembling in a way it never had before.

He sat back on his legs, rolling his shoulders. “You are in the Frostback Mountains, at a fortress called Skyhold.” His gaze was intense as he studied my face, “I haven’t yet learnt your name, nor where you come from”.

I had never heard of the Frostback Mountains. I’d ended up in some… unusual places while drunk, but I’d certainly never wandered so far away that the people spoke a different language, or dressed like they were from medieval times. Gulping back my fear I stammered, “R-R-Rosie. Rosie Llewellyn. And I don’t think I’m from around here”.

Solas shook his head as he stood, “No, you’ve travelled far Rosie Llewellyn. Very far indeed”.

As he rose, I got another look at my captor. He was average height, with lean muscles and chiselled features and those blue eyes were piercing. But those ears! The length and point on them, surely it wasn’t natural. But how could someone do that to themselves?

“Your ears. They’re very… long,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Solas tilted his head, a curious look on his face. “I’m an elf,” he said slowly, deliberately.

I nearly laughed. “An elf?” I scoffed. “Come off it, no you’re not”.  _Jesus Christ, where the hell am I?_

He looked bemused, with a slight smile curling his lips. “I can assure you that I am”

I shook my head, “No, elves don’t exist”.

“Fascinating,” he chuckled.

I pursed my lips in confusion. “No, it’s really not,” I said firmly. “Look, did you have them surgically altered or something? I mean, that’s weird sure but people do all kinds of crazy shit these days”.

His infuriating smile widened. “Elves might not exist where you are from, but they certainly exist here”.

I took a moment to process. “Here, as in the Frostback Mountains?” I asked, controlling my breathing as best as I could as a fresh wave of panic washed over me. “Am I in Switzerland or something? Please tell me I’m still in Europe at least”. My voice cracked, coming out too fast and too high-pitched.

His smile dropped, a sad expression settling on his face. “I’m sorry, Rosie. You’ve crossed through barriers I did not believe could be crossed. You’re in a different world now”.

The words bounced around for a second before something snapped. Cool, metallic rage made my fists clench against the blankets I was wrapped in and I struggled to control an anger I had not felt since I was a teenager. “A different world? Are you fucking kidding me?” I yelled, lashing out. “Is this some weird fucking bullshit to disguise the fact that you’re some sort of Medieval-torture-sex-cult? Where the fucking hell am I? What do you want with me? I want to go home!”

Solas shook his head, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Calm yourself Rosie, no one here is going to hurt you.” I snorted cruelly. Of course a cultist would say that. Solas continued, “But I’m afraid that until we figure out how you came to be here then we have no way of sending you back”.

“I want to go home,” I enunciated. “Now!”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You will be safe while we work out what magic brought you here, on this you have my word”.

I bit the inside of my ragged gum again. “Magic? You have got to be shitting me. Is that what just happened? Magic? This is not happening to me, I’m in a coma or something surely and this isn’t real”.

Solas looked at me curiously, “There’s no magic where you’re from?”

“No!” I yelled, “There are no other worlds, there is no shitting magic and you are fucking CRAZY!”

He just nodded and gestured to the food. “You should eat, you must be hungry. I’ll call you a bath and then you can dress”.

 _Oh God, what have I done?_ “I’msorry,I’msorry,I’msorry!” I called out as he turned to leave the room, “Please, you can’t just leave! Don’t leave me here! Where are you going? What are going to do to me? Please! I swear I won’t tell the police of you just let me go back home,  _please_!” I was howling, great heaving sobs hiccoughing from my chest so hard that my ribs started to hurt. Solas didn’t look at me as he left.

Everything was wrong, this wasn’t how my life was supposed to turn out. All I kept thinking was how mad my boss was going to be when I didn’t turn up for work. Or how my friends would worry when their Whatsapp messages went unread. Someone would realise I was missing, wouldn’t they?


	2. Chapter 2

It took a while before I managed to scale back my crying but eventually the tears ran out and I began to think logically. If I took Solas at his word then I had somehow crossed into a different dimension where elves and magic were real. It wasn’t possible. Yet, somehow I apparently understood and was speaking another language. Or, it was an elaborate plot to make me _think_ I was in another world, just like he believed he had done magic. Maybe when he touched me there was some sort of contact poison that cause the pain? I didn’t know what was more difficult to believe, that I was in a different world or that I had been kidnapped.

If this was a weird medieval cult, it was a very well-maintained, well-ingrained one. The level of detail put into everything was astonishing. There was no electricity, no Ikea furniture, no synthetic fibres. The stone walls and high ceiling made for a cold room, and the only source of heat was the unused fireplace along one of the walls. A dark wooden screen hid an equally wooden tub, presumably for bathing. The windows held rickety, uneven panes of stained glass, the sort that distorts the view outside. The books on the shelves were hand-written and about God-knows what. Books! They had gone to such lengths! Pulling a random tome off the shelf, I began to flick through the pages.

_…When the prophet Andraste and her husband Marferath arrived at the head of their barbarian horde, southern Tevinter was thrown into chaos. The Imperium had defended against invasions in the past, but now they stood without the protection of their Gods, with their army in tatters and their country devastated by the Blight. Many felt that the timing of the invasion was yet another of the Maker’s miracles in Andraste’s campaign to spread His divine word…_

I threw the book at the wall in disgust, hoping it was a work of fiction rather than something these people believed really happened. A knock at the door stopped me from tearing all the other books apart. I was immediately on guard given that Solas had never knocked before, and I was still only dressed in my bra and knickers. Gathering the blanket from the bed, I wrapped it around myself before I cracked the door open. Two impossibly slim women were stood carrying buckets of steaming water that looked to weigh far more than they both should have been able to carry. Then I noticed that they had elongated ears like Solas. Not the same, sure, but they were pretty lengthy. More so-called elves, or was it more weird surgery?

“Lady Llewellyn, we’re here to prepare your bath,” one announced before bustling in and filling the tub behind the screen. The sounds of splashing water came and then they left as swiftly as they had arrived, saying no more. I added the lack of running water to my list of oddities.

Begrudgingly, I moaned as I sank into the small tub. The near scalding water soon removed the last traces of my hangover as I scrubbed myself, the water turning greyish brown from the instant tan, mascara and eyeliner I had used the night before. My face must have been a state, and my body was no better. There were cuts up and down my legs and dark purple bruises on my knees, elbows and ribs but I couldn’t remember anything that could explain them. The scratches stung as I washed them with the bar of soap provided. It had a gentle fragrance, one that reminded me of the wild blackberry bushes at the edges of my family’s fields. When my mind started drifting towards thoughts of home I quickly stopped myself before I started crying again, and instead I picked up the mantra that had taken up firm residence within my head. _What the fuck. Don’t panic. Where am I? Don’t panic. Shitshitshit. Whatever you do, do NOT panic._

I spent as long as I could in the bath, not thinking and not panicking, before towelling myself off. When it came to dressing, I noticed that the trousers Solas had left were made of a light, supple brown leather. They felt like butter against my skin, so soft I couldn’t stop stroking them. When I finally put them on, they were a bit looser than a pair of skinny jeans but they were comfortable. I opted to keep my own underwear rather than tackle what looked to be a rudimentary binding system, even if it did make me feel a bit gross. The creamy cotton tunic came to mid-thigh and had a subtle green embroidery around the low neckline and fluted sleeves. There were soft, leather calf-height boots to protect my feet from the cold of the stone floor. Ultimately, I felt ridiculously like I was going to a Renaissance fair, especially when I realised that there wasn’t a hairdryer to dry and tame my mane of unruly hair.

Once dressed, I wandered around the room again, picking things up, putting them down, straightening the bed covers, pacing around aimlessly. I came to stand by the only door and strained to hear the noise of outside. I knew the door was unlocked; the only thing keeping me here was the fear of what was outside. Hand on the doorknob, my heart began to pound with mixed feelings of trepidation and hope. I steadied my breathing, gathered my courage and tentatively exited the room.

It was the cold that hit me first. The sting of the icy day slapped me in the face, whipping my damp hair into my eyes and mouth. I ungracefully gathered the strands and held them back in my fist, getting my first look at the snowy fortress. Last night had been a balmy September’s evening, warm enough to leave my jacket at home. Here, I was cursing my lack of a good winter coat and snow boots to survive this frosty, snow-cloudy day. It occurred to me that at this time of year even the Highlands only had snow on the very peaks of the mountains, so just how far had I travelled?

There were no guards outside my door but as I stepped further out of the room I could see soldiers everywhere. Never having had much experience with soldiers, I still found it absolutely bizarre that they carried no rifles and their uniforms were like something out of a period drama. But still, they were soldiers, which meant they were either there to keep something in or to keep something out and neither option seemed very safe. Not to mention the unsanitary pool of injured people lying around the dirty courtyard below.

The fortress itself was like a castle, all moss-covered stone and turrets and battlements. I could feel dread seeping into my bones as I realised the sale of this enterprise. How had a place like this gone unnoticed? Some government somewhere must know about this Skyhold and its militia, and they had to be planning… something? I let go of my wet hair and squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see any more. My hand reached out and gripped the rough stone wall to stop myself from falling down.

Something gripped my shoulder gently and I let out an involuntary squeak at the contact and immediately moved away from the touch. Solas was there in front of me, a stormy expression on his face. “I’m afraid the tour will have to wait until later,” he declared. “The Inquisitor wishes to speak with you immediately. Come”.

I raised an eyebrow in defiance. No one had ever spoken to me like that before; such a blunt command with no please or thank you. And such arrogance to think I’d just follow him after everything he did and said.

“Are you kidding me? Where are you taking me? What are you going to do to me there? What’s an Inquisitor?” I fired out in a rapid pace, not moving from the wall.

Solas sighed heavily, a sudden weariness settling on his shoulders and I was sure that whatever he’d been doing while he was away had annoyed him. “It is fair that you do not trust me,” he said while pinching the bridge of his nose, “And you won’t believe me no matter how much I assure you that you will not be harmed. But I do need you to come with me now. Please”.

Weighing my options, I was torn between following like a good little prisoner and kicking him square in the nuts. But I didn’t want to take my chances with the soldiers so, nodding curtly, I set off after him in silence. As much as I tried to ignore my surroundings, I couldn’t help but be in awe of the fortress. The architecture was incredible, and even though some of the buildings were in disrepair it held a beauty that I had never seen before. Once inside, I marvelled at the round painted walls and glimpses of a library above, no doubt holding more heretical books on the fantasies of these cultists. But Solas’ pace wouldn’t let me stay for long and he soon disappeared through a wooden door.

A grand hall filled with banners, statues and long trestle tables greeted me. Stopping dead in my tracks, I turned my head from side to side, trying to take everything in through my wide, disbelieving eyes. The mixture of smells was almost overpowering; cooking meat and smoke and metal and the inescapable smell of _people_. So, so many people! Some were wearing ridiculous, yet beautiful silken ball gowns complete with masquerade masks with such detail drawn out in gold filigree. Some were in full, polished medieval armour with swords or maces or, most terrifyingly, huge battle axes. And then there were the really short people. I’d never seen so many dwarves in one place before or with such extravagant displays of chest hair.

I was aware that Solas was speaking to me, but his voice was hazy beneath the roar of these people. A number of them had stopped chatting in their groups and had turned to look at me from behind those exquisite masks. But I couldn’t catch my breath. To my left was an impossibly large door that was calling my name, but I knew I had no more hope outside than I did in here. I looked at Solas who was holding his hand outstretched in front of me. It’s alright he seemed to be saying, but my ears didn’t register. I felt like a deer in the headlights, the muscles of my legs strained taught read to run. But I gritted my teeth, took a deep, steadying breath, straightened my posture and walked towards him, ignoring his extended hand.

Together we walked through the crowd to stand before a throne. _A throne for Christ’s sake!_ There sat a beautiful and slim woman with the rigid bearing of someone not used to being the centre of attention. Her gloved hands were folded neatly in her lap, her right foot tapping out a barely perceptible rhythm while her eyes darted towards me. She was striking in all ways. Her hair was that rich shade of copper that I admired, but would have earned her the nick-name _carrot-top_ in primary school. It flowed in thick waves to her waist, braided and twisting just so. Her eyes, framed by long lashes, were a bright sea green enhanced perfectly by the hue of her hair. Her skin had that same pale, translucent look as my own, but where mine was marred by a thousand freckles, hers was broken by strange, outlandish facial tattoos, the same colour as her eyes. It was like an abstract tree had been drawn on her face, branches curling around her eyes with the trunk sliding down her straight nose, over her full lips, halving her chin and disappearing under the collar of her peculiar grey shirt.

“So you’re the alien,” she said, her voice quiet but authoritative.

The word hit me like a sledgehammer. I didn’t feel like I was the odd one out here, more it was the rest of this place that was wrong rather than me. I opened my mouth to tell her exactly where to stick her alien comment when Solas jumped in with a flourish. “Inquisitor, may I present Rosie Llewellyn. Rosie, this is the Inquisitor Aderyn of clan Lavellan, Herald of… Herald of Andraste” he announced.

My jaw shut tight. The tiny spark of anger I had felt moments before had vanished, leaving me with a nervous tremor in my hands. It was obvious that I was standing, now quaking, before their leader but I had no idea how to act. Surely an act of defiance would only see me punished, though I couldn’t stand the thought of meekly accepting my fate. Was I supposed to bow before my captor in reverence? To graciously beg her to send me home? The back of my neck tingled with the stares of those masked figured behind me, sending a creeping sweat prickling along my brow.

Suddenly, the Inquisitor reached towards a lock of hair that had come undone from its braid and, almost timidly, tucked it away behind a lengthened ear. I stared at her, realising that she mustn’t be much older than myself. How had she come to play this role?

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Do I bow or curtsey or something? I-I don’t know what to do”.

The Inquisitor laughed a hesitant chuckle and leaned forward in the throne. “Neither, I’m no queen. Perhaps it would be less daunting if we were to speak in private?”

I just nodded, not wanting my voice to betray me again. Following the Inquisitor and Solas, I heard the whispers start from behind gloved hands as we walked by. The room we came to was modestly furnished, with every available surface covered in maps and diagrams. What looked like architect drawings, resource charts, and even weapon schematics were on the walls.

The door closed on any bravado I may have had, leaving my fear lodged in the back of my throat. I peppered them with the questions that seems to have tumbled from my lips a thousand times. What am I doing here? What are you going to do with me? I begged and begged for them to just.let.me.go.home.please. _please_! But they just stood in maddening silence until my breath ran out and I slumped over the mapped table, knuckles white and nails digging half-moons into my palms.

Before the sting of tears could creep into my eyes once again, I examined the document in front of me, eyeing the knives and pins that held it straight. Solas must have caught where my gaze fell as he swiftly stepped to the opposite side of the table, making him much closer to any weapon than I was.

When I spoke again, my voice came out thick and hoarse. “Where am I on this map?”

“These are the Frostback Mountains,” Solas’ long, thin finger traced a line of markings, coming to a stop where a small pin had been pushed into the surface. “And Skyhold is here, roughly”. The names and shapes on the yellowed, faded parchment were alien to me. Nothing was recognisable.

The Inquisitor came closer, sweeping her equally slender fingers over the hand-written words, calling out the names of cities I didn’t know, in countries I had never heard of. I felt sick to my core.

“How did I get here?” I whispered, fighting back tears.

Solas cleared his throat before he spoke. “We have… explored a number of possibilities. But currently none have been conclusive”.

“So you don’t know,” I said slowly, carefully.

“We have several theories”.

My head was shaking from side to side and a panicked burst of laughter fell from my lips. “You really believe that I just appeared here? Out of nowhere?” I waved my arms hysterically, “Poof! Just like that!” I bit my tongue before it became too loose, not wanting to offend them just in case they decided to starve me to death or something.

The Inquisitor took a step towards me, leading me to take a step back in return. She looked towards Solas, almost asking permission to speak, before turning her gaze on me. “Rosie please, I know this is difficult but--”

Her soft voice was cut of when a loud crash sounded from the corridor. A huge beast thudded through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. “Hey, boss, I gotta talk to you about--”

I screamed, high and loud. The monster in front of me was enormous in both height and breadth. Its thickly muscled skin had an almost metallic silver sheen to it, though it was streaked with white scars and wounds. Its one uncovered eye was beady and lightly coloured, the other presumably lost behind the eye-patch it wore. Worst of all were the large horns sprouting from each side of its head, thick and scaled. It was like something from a nightmare. I backed away so sharply that I tripped, falling on my backside with an oomph. I scrambled backwards into the corner of the room and curled my arms around my knees, leaning my head on my arms to cover my eyes. I was weeping again, tears collecting on my leather trousers.

“Bull, I don’t think this is a good time,” I heard the Inquisitor say softly.

“Er, right. I’ll catch you later boss,” the monster replied. I heard it thud out of the room, the door closing just as loudly as it had opened.

I felt someone sit beside me on the floor and they lightly brushed my arm. Jerking my head up, I shrank away from the touch. Solas looked at me with concern as I sniffed and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “That was The Iron Bull, he is Qunari,” he said gently.

I shook my head sharply. “That thing was a _monster_. He-he had horns and everything! I’m hallucinating, aren’t I? I’m going insane!”

His smile had a twinge of sadness as he replied. “I know that there are only humans in your world and this is a great shock to you but here you will meet people, animals and yes, monsters that you have never even dreamed of. Believe me when I say that Iron Bull is no monster and you have nothing to fear from him”.

I swallowed hard, not convinced. “No no no no no! I don’t want to be in a world with monsters, Solas. Please, just tell me how to go home”.

The Inquisitor came to kneel before me, adopting that same pitying expression as Solas. “Rosie, without knowing how you got here in the first place, I’m afraid it’s almost impossible right now. You’re safe here, no one will harm you. You just have to be patient while we work it out”.

I pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes so hard I began to see stars flashing in the darkness. They were both too close, the room too claustrophobic. “I think I’d like to go back to that bedroom now, please,” I murmured without looking at them. I removed my hands and stood, brushing off the dust from my leggings.

The Inquisitor opened her mouth as if to ask something, but she hesitated when she saw Solas shake his head and instead allowed us to leave together in silence. I cringed inwardly as we walked through the great hall, sure that all these people had heard me scream, could see I’d been crying. I had to force myself not to run.

Solas guided me to the bedroom I’d been given and this time it was my pace driving us forward. Once we’d reached the door, he finally broke our silence with a sad smile and a pitying tilt of his head. “I am sorry that this has happened to you Rosie, I truly am. I made assumptions that your world would be similar to this one in at least some regards and for that I apologise. This hasn’t been as smooth as I would have hoped”.

Sighing wearily, I had to fight to stop the weight of my shoulders from dragging me to the floor. “Sorry isn’t exactly helping right now,” I muttered under my breath.

“I know. It will get easier but there is much to explain to you and so little time to do it. You should rest”.

Not bothering to argue, to call him crazy, to huff in exasperation, I just nodded and closed the door on him, sliding down the back of it to sit on the floor. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. That monster had looked so real, but to acknowledge that meant destroying the rest of my shaky reality. A dull numbness swept through me, sedating my mind and body alike. I kept pinching my arms with my nail extensions, hoping to wake myself from this nightmare I was living. I pinched and nipped over and over again until I drew blood, then I screamed in frustration until no noise came out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory dream sequence - sorry it's short!

When I finally fell asleep on that cold stone floor, I dreamed of home. I was running through one of the uncultivated fields on the outskirts of my family’s farm, through the tall grasses and wild flowers. I remembered the day perfectly; it was a rare British summer’s day, hot enough to make everyone reach for the factor 30 and complain miserably as they scorched themselves. I had even caught the sun on the tops of my shoulders, making my freckles stand out even more.

I remembered the shape of the clouds, the smell of the grass, the sounds of horses neighing from the stables. I had run barefoot from the farmhouse through the acres of fields to the edges of our land, so far I couldn’t even see the farm buildings but I kept running furiously, away from an age-old argument I’d had with my mum about dying my hair. I had hated her in that moment, so much that it sickened me now to think of it, especially since I missed her so much. But on this day, the day I was dreaming, my anger subsided as soon as I had finished my sprint, and I stood hunched and panting at the edge of the field.

I didn’t know why I was dreaming of this until I reached the walled thatch of brambles that separated my family’s lands from our neighbour’s. The smell of those perfectly ripe berries hit me like a double decker bus, delicate and sweet and almost like the soap in Skyhold. My heart lurched, my knees weakening at the onslaught of memories. Instinctively I reached towards the nearest stable object to stop myself from falling, but ended up with a palm full of thorns. The air was tingling against my skin, like hot pins and needles as I wished with all my might that this perfect day was my reality, and that Skyhold had just been a nightmare.

Plucking the barbs from my skin, I wiped the blood on my pale dress and turned back towards the wild grasses of the field. That’s when I saw him. Solas was loitering, watching me from my neighbour’s orchard, leaning against a tree and eating an apple like this was the most normal thing in the world. I clambered over a sparse patch of the bushes, snagging my dress on the spines, and wandered over to where he stood. It was cooler here under the shade of the trees, the air thicker and more prickly.

The image of him there was ruining my dream like the dried bloodstain had ruined my dress. I wanted him gone, I never wanted to think of him again, I wanted to stay in this perfect moment where I was free. I moistened my bottom lip as I squared up to him. “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here, go away”.

Solas visibly recoiled from my words, as if they could have physically blown him away. Then a smile crept over his face, slow and languid. “You’re a dreamer,” he said, taking another bite of his apple.

I regarded him curiously, warily. “Yeah, I’m dreaming. And like I said, you shouldn’t be here”.

An ungraceful snort of laughter flew from him, a peculiar noise that didn’t fit in with the little I’d observed of this strange man. “You misunderstand me. You have the ability to control your dreams. It is an unusual trait, especially given the apparent lack of magic in your world. I am curious, is this a memory?”

I nodded my response, not really understanding what I was nodding at.

He continued, “The level of detail is remarkable. Commendable, even. Few mages are even aware of their dreams and even fewer still could conjure something of this depth”.

I pursed my lips in confusion, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. “I don’t understand. I know I’m dreaming, and I don’t want you here so why are you still here?”

“To put it in simple terms, my will is greater than yours”.

“Uh-huh, sure,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “So you—are you dreaming too? And you’re somehow in my dream, and you’re aware that you’re in my dream?”

He beamed, a wide smile that flashed white teeth and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. A reflection of what he looked like as a younger man. _Elf_. Thing? “Precisely,” He said. Sounding smug was something that came naturally to him, apparently.

I sucked at my bottom lip, worrying it with my teeth. “Right well. This is seriously fucked up. If what you’ve said is true then this is a ridiculous breach of my privacy”. I started pacing the ground in front of him, twisting my hands around themselves. “But it _can’t be true_ because you can’t just wander into someone’s dreams! This is—this is crazy. This is wrong! I can’t, I just can’t”.

His head tilted slightly as he regarded me, that careful smile playing on his lips. “Can’t you feel it, Rosie?”

“I--” The words failed me. I _knew_ I was dreaming, I nearly always knew when I was dreaming but this was different. Tingly. “Whatever,” I said flippantly. “I mean, can I spy on your dreams too? Or can you just hack into mine?”

The sarcasm was lost on him. “I presume you could, but you’d have to find me first,” he said with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes at him, annoyance and irritation rolling around my stomach. “What does that even _mean_? Look, never mind. I don’t like this, I’m not going to be drawn into your weird cult. Clearly you’ve given me some psychotropic drugs or something so you can brainwash me but I am telling you right now that it just won’t work. Okay?”

“It has always astounded me the lengths humans go to protect their fragile view of the world. There are things you need to know Rosie, things I am going to tell you. The sooner you start accepting these, the better things will be for everyone”. I opened my mouth in protest but Solas cut me off. “No,” he said sharply, “Now you listen”.

It started with magic, because everything in his world seemingly started with magic. The Fade, Mages, Templars, Circles, Blight, Wardens, Darkspawn, Rifts. The words came thick and fast. Elves, Dalish, Vallaslin, Gods, Chantry, Maker, Andraste. Each new topic sent me reeling, lurching for anything familiar, safe. Solas’ voice was soft and gentle, coaxing me with his sweet talking. He was too much, it was all too much; too much detail in the stories he was telling, too much for it not to be true. The people, the religions, the magic, either I was completely and utterly bat-shit crazy or this was all real. I listened carefully, silently, through the hours, my head buzzing as it tried to make sense of everything, of how things were connected.

He spoke at length of the Inquisition and their fight against the Darkspawn Magister Corypheus, the very thought of which set my teeth on edge. But oh, the Inquisitor; how Solas spoke of her in that soft, almost-Welsh voice of his that reminded me so much of home. She was an elf the likes of which the world had never seen, surviving against all odds again and again. Wielding dual knives like they were extensions of her arms, stealthily dispatching enemies from behind a smoke screen. His eyes were alive when he spoke of her, the shy elf with ancient power and greatness thrust upon her. Her only presumed flaw would be her staunch belief in the Elven pantheon, its Gods and rituals, superstitions and fables, all of which Solas disapproved greatly. But it wasn’t her religion that sent her spiralling through time, or hurtling down a frozen mountain or careering into demons at Adamant. It was, by and large, the Anchor; the flickering mark on her left palm that could vaporise demons and close Rifts.

I didn’t know if the stories of the Inquisition’s battle victories were supposed to pacify me, but all they did was reinforce the frightening fact that I now found myself in the middle of a warzone. A warzone where the weapons were magic and swords, spies and nobles. On Earth, the greatest danger I faced on a day-to-day basis was the barista at Starbucks getting my coffee order wrong. In Thedas, it seemed highly likely I could be killed in a number of extremely creative ways.

I didn’t voice my concerns to Solas; I let him talk and talk until, at some unknown signal, he stopped. His unnerving eyes surveyed me, somehow understanding that I couldn’t take any more information. Though it felt like an age had passed, the sun was still high in the sky and the air was still sweet with the smell of wild flowers, grasses and berries. I breathed it in, eyes closed, relaxing in the thought that nothing could hurt me here in my land, in my dream. This was my land, my very own part of the Fade so Solas said, one that I controlled down to the very last blade of grass. A place that was a part of me, my memories, my experiences. I felt safe and calm, except for that maddening sensation of pins and needles that wouldn’t be pushed away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

I huffed in annoyance and scratched idly at my arm, trying to rub the feeling away. “Is the Fade always so… prickly?” I asked.

Solas’ head tilted, bemused. “Prickly?”

“Yeah, like I can feel the air moving over me, scratching at me. I just assumed it was some sorta Fade-thing. Or a magic-thing? Now that I think of it, it’s almost like when you did… that er... magic on me. But not as awful, obviously”.

His full lips pursed, his eyes roaming over me as if he was studying me again. “Unusual,” he said bluntly. “I have never heard of such a reaction. I had assumed your discomfort was through fear”.

I arched an eyebrow, not needing the reminder. “Maybe I’m allergic, or sensitive to it since I’ve never been around magic before,” I suggested.

“Perhaps. It is something for me to consider further”.

I _hmm_ d my response and closed my eyes again, enjoying the heat of the sun on my face. Sure, it was annoying, but it was liveable. Solas offered no more of an explanation and we lapsed into an almost comfortable silence while I considered everything he had told me. I could tell it was going to be an uphill battle for me to be comfortable with this new information, and I knew we had only scratched the surface of Thedas but it was a start. Something tangible for me to work on, even if it did challenge every single one of my beliefs. But at least I now knew that the only person I could rely on to get me out of this God-forsaken place was me. No army, no undercover police, just _me_.

After some moments I became hyperaware of my body, of my surroundings. But simultaneously I could feel the stone beneath me and my cramped limbs stretching the sleep from them. As the world dissolved, I saw the bright blue of Solas’ eyes looking at me in confusion. I was waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pace on this is a bit slow, I know but I'm getting there - I promise :)  
> Let me know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments so far, they make me squee every time!

Once conscious, I mentally kicked myself for sleeping on the cold floor. My muscles were tight and my bones were rattled. As I stretched my aching body, I ran through the intricacies of my dream and warred with myself over the reality of it. I remembered so much of what Solas had said, my stomach lurching at the absolute clusterfuck of a situation I now found myself in. It probably would have been easier if I had been kidnapped by a medieval cult. I glanced around, looking for the book I had thrown so carelessly yesterday. Smoothing the pages as I read, my head reeled as the passages on Andraste reflected exactly what Solas had told me. How had I ended up here? This world that was breaking apart at the seams with only a rag-tag bunch of God-knows who to save it. I couldn’t survive in a world like this; I was helpless without technology, I didn’t know self-defence or magic and I could feel my diet-coke withdrawal starting already. What was I going to eat? Was the water safe? Just how likely was dismemberment here? I couldn’t even tell what time it was!

Pouring near freezing water from the pitcher on the dresser into the basin, I washed myself as best as I could before dressing in yesterday’s clothes. There wasn’t a mirror in the room so I had no idea how dull my hair looked, or how dark the circles under my eyes were, which was probably for the best when I thought about it. I felt pretty disgusted about not showering or brushing my teeth and the state of the outside “toilets” but I refused to let myself dwell on it. Thankfully I wasn’t too OC about germs otherwise I’d have a serious problem. It did, however, highlight the fact that I only had one set of clothes and no obvious way of obtaining any more. I didn’t even have a hairbrush, which was in my opinion a basic human right. Combing my fingers through my thick, knotted hair took forever.

Eventually I felt decent enough to leave the room. The sun had barely broken the horizon, leaving the sky a sickening mix of orange, red and green. I stayed on the upper level walking the battlements and peering at the land beyond, utterly grateful that there was no one else around. The landscape was beautiful and dangerous; mountains with sheer cliffs, wolves howling in the distance, a snowy landslide tearing through the trees. The air was bitterly cold, crisp and clean despite the obvious wound in the sky, flickering like the aurora borealis. Real evidence of the Breach so obvious that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it yesterday.

The solders caught my eye again; how could they not? They were everywhere. They moved around silently as they changed guard or practiced moves or warmed up before training. I sat on the battlements for a moment watching them with curiosity. They moved fluidly, with a harsh and deadly grace, the clang of their swords chiming through the quiet morning. _Swords!_ This primitive land had replaced technology with magic; relying on swords and staves instead of guns, magic hoodoo healers instead of doctors and God-knows what for entertainment. I was already missing the constant clamour in my ears from my music, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my days without TV. Or a job, even.

Walking around this upper level gave me a good feel for how Skyhold worked. I could see the steam rising from a bakery where the staff must have been slaving away for hours already. There were stables so large they could hold a hundred horses or more. The repetitive clang of a hammer on anvil, a faint smell of sulphur and iron came from deep within the ground. But beyond the walls was the real picture of Skyhold; rows upon rows of tents, in all colours and shapes. Some seemed little more than tablecloths covering sticks, where others had the beginnings of a wooden structure next to them. Spaced out every few metres was a campfire, the coals covered in a light dusting of snow. How could these dwellings keep the freezing cold at bay? It made me wonder what had happened for me to be housed within the walls, in a relatively comfy room.

“Refugees,” came a lilting voice to my left, startling me so much that I jumped out of my skin. “More and more arrive everyday”. The woman was wearing a strange mix of chainmail and purple hooded robes from which a peek of red-gold hair was visible. She seemed unassuming in her gestures, shy almost, but something was off. I immediately tensed, eyeing her with caution. “I’m Leliana,” she continued. “I look after the safety of the Inquisition. You’ve caused quite a stir, lady Llewelyn”. Her words were light, full of amusement to match her slight smile. I didn’t trust her. Though I may have made grounds in accepting the beliefs of these people, I couldn’t trust anyone here. And not least because they were all armed in some way.

Leliana gestured for me to sit on the stone walls and seemed to be taking in the scenery, just as I was. But I could see the furtive glances, and I could almost read the mental notes she was taking. “It is unusual for me to know so little about someone under the Inquisition's protection,” she said after a while. “You are unique, lady Llewelyn”.

I snorted. “Seems like everyone here is pretty unique to me. I’m just—I’m just a normal girl, there’s nothing special about me”.

Leliana gave me a small smile. “You stopped being normal the moment you arrived here”. She reminded me of those women in my office that were all smiles and bake-sales, but as soon as your back was turned the daggers came out. The ones that would do absolutely anything to further their agenda. Trouble was, I had no idea what anyone’s agenda was.

“Right, sure,” I said with a placid look. I still felt pretty normal, unclean yes, but normal. “So you know all of those people out there?”

“It is my job to know them,” she replied bluntly. “And it is my job to get to know you better too, Rosie. For safety, you understand”. Her lips had paled from the cold mountain air but they twisted into a seemingly reassuring smile.

“Whose safety would that be?” I countered, though my heart wasn’t committed to the objection. She began with simple enough questions like my name and age. Like everyone, she commented that I looked younger than my 24 years. Hell, I still got ID'd everywhere.

“Using moisturiser helps,” I responded glibly. “So does having a full set of teeth, I think”. From what I’d seen so far, dental hygiene didn’t seem to be much of a priority.

Leliana didn’t seem amused by the comment and swiftly moved the questioning on. “I see no wedding band,” she said, “So I presume you are not married. Unless, of course, your world has different customs”.

I smiled at a religious similarity between the two worlds. "You know, we do have wedding bands where I’m from, you’re right that I’m not married. Absolutely nowhere near getting married. In fact, I couldn't think of anything worse”.

“Oh? In Thedas you’d be married with chubby little babies around your ankles by now”.

I laughed at the thought of me with kids. I’d take wrestling a Qunari over running after children any day. “I guess I'm what we call a career woman, I want to get as far as I can in my job and make sure I'm financially stable before I settle down”. I didn't comment that Leliana wore no wedding ring either.

Her frown made me realise that maybe the feminist movement hadn't started here yet, which was surprising since their most prominent religious figure was female. “What is this... career?”

“I'm an accountant,” I answered. “I’d actually just passed my last qualification exam not long before... You know. I got here”. Her face remained frozen in that frown until I realised she had no idea what an accountant was. “Um, it’s like bookkeeping?” I tried.

Understanding lifted her face and Leliana nodded gently. She sat in silence, processing what I'd told her while looking at the sunrise. “I am curious,” she said after a moment, “Are you a pious woman, Rosie?”

That one had me stumped. I opened my mouth as if to speak several times, not knowing how to start. “I—um. Well, you see, me and my religion had a sorta... falling out a few years ago and I've not practised since then”.

Her pale gaze met mine and I thought I saw a glimpse of something I couldn't place. A gentle emotion that was unguarded. “You had a crisis of faith?” she asked softly.

“I guess, something like that,” I mumbled, breaking eye contact to look at the floor. The conversation was getting too personal. Religion was hardly a happy topic for a recovering Catholic.

More people were wandering around now that the morning had fully broken and there was a growl in my stomach reminding me that I hadn’t eaten in over a day. And I’d lost feeling in my toes long ago. But when a group of soldiers ran towards where we sat on the battlements, an irrational fear grew in my stomach and I became convinced they were going to lock me away in a dungeon. Or worse, kill me on the spot. Had I not answered her questions? What did I say wrong? But they were dressed differently to the soldiers I’d seen before, their armour was lighter, all greens and browns and leather. They were meant to blend in, rather than stand out.

One of them called out as he approached, “Sister Nightingale! He's--”

The man was cut off as a red-faced Solas pushed his way past, his fists clenched and teeth gritted. He looked to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday with the addition of a necklace. Had he been wearing that before? Surely I couldn't have missed it since it looked like it was a representation of some sort of jaw. Christ, it even looked like real bone, all pitted and worn.

“Good morning Solas, I see you found my note,” Leliana called, her voice full of mirth.

Solas looked furious. “You deliberately tricked me!” he yelled.

Her eyes had a gleam in them and I couldn't tell if it was malicious or playful. “Oh nonsense, I think you must be mistaken,” she almost sang.

He started waving in my direction, bare feet pacing the battlements. “What, exactly, have you been doing to her?”

“Solas, please don’t be unreasonable about this, I was simply doing my job”.

“And what job is that Leliana? To interrogate a scared, innocent girl?!”

I could see Leliana grinding her teeth, her previously masked emotions rising to the surface. “It is my job to stop any potential threats to the Inquisitor and her mission,” she hissed.

Solas laughed sarcastically. “Threat? She is no more a threat to the Inquisitor than she is to a fly! You are damaging her already fragile mind!” I didn’t even bother protesting that I certainly could be a threat to a fly, I even had one of those swatter gun things. And surely my mind wasn’t that fragile that I couldn't handle a couple of questions.

Leliana turned her gaze upon me. “Rosie was happy to answer my questions, weren’t you Rosie?”

I could feel the anger radiating from them in hot waves. “Don’t bring me into whatever this is,” I said pacifyingly. “Look, it’s about breakfast time and I’m starving, how about getting something to eat?”

“ _I_ will take you to the hall,” Solas said. Then with a sneer, “Leliana, perhaps you should interrogate someone worthwhile”.

Solas waved me towards him and I stood gingerly, looking between him and Leliana as if I was trying to decide who would be least dangerous to annoy. I took a step towards him, and then Leliana called out to me, “Just one more thing Rosie, if you’d please?” I turned back and nodded for her to continue. “Have you had any combat training, magical or otherwise?”

I was confused, and it showed. “No,” I whispered. “Not unless you count the two kickboxing classes I went to a couple of months ago”. I didn’t need to tell her about the shotgun licence I still held, adding the weapons of Earth to this melting pot would be the worst thing I could ever do. But I wondered why Solas hadn’t told Leliana about the lack of magic on Earth. The woman who wanted to know everything about everyone, and he was keeping secrets from her. Secrets about me.

Leliana dismissed us with a curious glance and a wave of her hand. Solas’ shoulders were set rigid and his lips were pursed as we walked together in silence, my footsteps echoing across the stone, his as quiet as the grave.

“What was that all about?” I asked eventually. He paused slightly before answering.

“I expressly asked her not to bother you but instead she leads me on a wild chase through Skyhold while she interrogates you”.

I shrugged my shoulders, making light of the situation while also disappointed that Solas hadn’t mentioned why he was keeping things. “She only asked a few questions, it wasn’t any bother to answer them”.

Solas stopped in his tracks and turned towards me, the full weight of that icy blue stare hitting me hard. “Rosie, you don’t understand what she’s like, The Game she plays. Leliana is a dangerous woman and she has learned far more about you than just the answers to those questions”.

I swallowed under his stare, daring to meet his eye. “And that’s a bad thing? Really, I’m an open book,” I smiled nervously up at him. “Ask my anything, I won’t mind”.

He shook his head, almost in disappointment. “Secrets are sold here like currency, you should learn to be more guarded”.

My smile dropped. “Right well. I’ll… bear that in mind”.

We said nothing more until we reached the great hall. An echo of the panic I’d felt yesterday crept up as I remembered the hoard of people tittering behind their masks. Was that really only yesterday? I stalled on the stairway, “Are we going in there?” I asked. “With all those masked people?”

Solas let out a low chuckle, “Orlesian’s don’t usually rise until noon, and they certainly don’t eat mess-hall food. You’ll be safe enough”.

The large double doors opened with a groan, old wood protesting and rusted hinges grating. The hall was almost empty but it was filled with the sounds and smells of hungry warriors. Great platters of food covered the long tables and I breathed a sigh of relief that some of it was familiar. Baskets of bread, trays of cheese, meats with strange fruits and all of it served with watered wines and ales. Nug rashers might have looked just like bacon but they tastes like arse.

As we ate, I questioned Solas on what he’d said in the dream. What started the mage rebellion? Why don’t dwarves dream? When did the elves become so divided? He answered patiently, thoroughly, and smiled as his answers prompted further questions. My grasp of the basic lore of this world was getting stronger the more I spoke with him, but I was afraid that I was never going to fully understand this place. I wasn’t even sure I _wanted_ to understand it. But I _needed_ to know more. I figured the more I knew, the more likely it was that I could find a way to get back home. Solas quirked his full lips as I asked to be shown to the library I’d seen before, all cheekbones and dimples. As we climbed the stairs I heard glimpses of a conversation. Muffled words, a low rumbling chuckle.

“Why is it always so cold? How do you southerners stand it?”

“What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies?”

 _Slaves?_ As we rounded the corner my eyes locked on the monster. The Iron Bull. My leapt into my throat and my eyes were as wide as saucers. I had to keep reminding myself to breathe, that he was a person like any other. Just… larger. And with horns.

The man Iron Bull had been talking to turned around and looked me up and down. His outfit was more luxurious than any I’d seen so far, silky satin complete with shining buttons and buckles. He looked and smelled _clean_ , with each strand of his dark hair lying perfectly in place and a slightest whisper of cedar wood and cinnamon came with each inhale. Though, the less said about his moustache the better.

Iron Bull eyed my terrified expression and made a hasty retreat, grumbling something about not wanting to catch some Vint disease.

“So you’re her then? I have to say, you’re a little underwhelming. After the stir you caused I was expecting someone with a bit more… presence. I’m Dorian of House Pavus”.

“Rosie Llewellyn of… Llanfihangel y Creuddyn,” I announced with as much _presence_ as I could muster.

“I’m sorry, did you just sneeze?” He asked, his curled moustache twitching into a smirk.

My posture slumped a little. “No, it’s Llan-vee- oh never mind, it’s not around here anyways”.

“ _That’s_ for certain. You know, I’m surprised our apostate hobo let you out. Since you got here he’s been riding one long orgasm of possibilities and he’s been saving you all for himself. It’s really is quite unfair as all of us mages want a turn to poke around. Not to mention the archanist…”

Solas coughed uncomfortably and gave Dorian an icy look but he walked around the dusty shelves as if searching for a book, his pointed ears still pricked and listening. Dorian began to walk around me slowly, as if examining me and my hideous, crumpled clothes. I almost didn't notice it at first but I could feel the air thickening gradually. It was a strange sensation, almost like I was in a dream again, all pins and needles. And it made me nervous, the way he was looking at me as if he wanted to tear me apart and analyse the pieces.

I gritted my teeth and gave him a small smile. “I wouldn’t have thought that you’d want to poke me,” I declared.

His eyebrows raised and his smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m sure we’d have lots of fun either way”.

Solas let out another small cough of irritation. “To save you the trouble of any unnecessary… poking… Dorian, from my own examinations I have found Rosie to be quite ordinary”.

Dorian looked at him sceptically. “Hmm, yes. Other than the fact that she physically crossed the Fade from another world to appear just outside Skyhold’s gates?”

I felt something move the air around me, making me flinch. But my eyes lit up at the first tangible explanation of how I came to be here. “Is that what you think, then? That I crossed the Fade from Earth to here?”

“It was one of the many working theories I have examined,” Solas explained. “And one I have discounted”.

A graze of my wrist, a nudge of my leg, a breeze through my hair. I had no idea what was happening but I could feel every movement, every flick of air stinging as it whipped by. “Yeah, I guess it’s a bit unlikely. I mean, you said that a lot of magic was used to create those Rifts, right Solas?”

“Ha!” Dorian burst out. “You’ve not told her then!”

I looked at Solas expectantly, noticing that his expression had soured considerably. “Told me what?” I demanded.

He folded his arms and huffed, “There were traces of the Fade about you when you arrived”.

A flash of anger was my immediate reaction, but I knew an outburst would get me nowhere. So Leliana wasn’t the only one Solas was keeping things from. “Oh, is that it?” I said while analysing the information. Was it possible? Maybe I had drunkenly travelled across the Fade without knowing it. At that moment it seemed to me that there were far less likely things that had happened to me in the past 24 hours. Specifically, being face to face with a real life monster. No, _Qunari_. Not monster.

“Is that _it?_ ” Dorian exclaimed with an exuberance that suddenly made me feel very small. “You have no conception as to how monumental this is, the implications it has! One does not simply walk through the Fade, not physically, not without an anchor. Never mind crossing whole worlds!”

I didn’t know how to respond. My mouth hung open as if I were catching flies, my right hand tapped frantically against my leg as I looked between the two men. “We don’t know that’s what happened though, right? I can remember fuck all about how I got here so anything could’ve happened… The chances of me stumbling into the Fade and making my way here on my own, it’s pretty fucking impossible”.

“Indeed,” Dorian chirped as another burst of something tickled my ribs. “I have to say, it’s been fun watching you flail around all this time, are you sure she isn’t a mage Solas?”

Was it magic I had been feeling? Annoying, stupid little bursts of magic? Dorian was a mage? “You’ve been… testing me?” I asked sharply.

That annoying smirk twitched his moustache again. “Hmm, yes. You sense magic better than any Templar I’ve met before, it’s quite remarkable. Honestly Solas, how you could ever describe this girl as _ordinary_ is beyond me”.

My lips were pursed in anger as I tried not to yell at him. “No no no no, _fuck_ no. I’m not going to be your science project! You can’t just go around experimenting on people! It’s unethical and dangerous. And just… downright rude! And it’s a mild… sensitivity, that’s all. Right Solas? It’ll go away eventually… _right?_ ”

If I was angry, Solas was furious. “ _She is not a toy for you to play with_ ,” he hissed at Dorian.

Dorian made no pretence of keeping quiet. “Oh no,” he yelled. “That right is reserved for you alone, isn’t it? First the Inquisitor and her pretty little anchor, and now you have this beauty to add to your ever-growing collection of magical misfits! Are you going to woo her too with your charming hobo ways? What will Aderyn say about _that_ I wonder?”

Solas’ cold eyes flashed with an almost murderous rage as he opened his mouth to reply, but as quickly as it crept over his face, it left. “I see the Tevinter culture of asking forgiveness rather than permission has not escaped you, though I believe Rosie would prefer it if you refrained from any further experimentation”. I frowned at his change of tact but kept quiet as Solas continued. “In regards to determining exactly how Rosie came to be here, I will admit that perhaps some of your insight may prove useful”.

Dorian huffed a sigh but the tension in the air had lifted. “Well I suppose if I find that I have a spare moment then I could help you Solas. And Rosie, I apologise for my earlier fun, I hadn’t realised it would affect you so”.

I nodded, realising slowly that there was far more to this conversation than what had been said. “Um, no worries,” I shrugged. “Just don’t do it again”. But the next thing I knew, there was a ball of fire hovering in his outstretched hand. I let out a shriek as I felt the heat of the flames and air condensing.

“You can feel the pull of the Fade, can’t you?” Dorian asked.

I ignored him, instead staring at the flames flickering in his palm. “It’s _real_ ,” I whispered, lifting my fingers to the dancing light, withdrawing them just before the heat became unbearable. “How do you do that?”

Solas chuckled lightly and send a shiver of ice towards Dorian, extinguishing the flames and leaving tiny crystals melting along Dorian’s fingertips. A slow, reluctant smile crept over my face as it finally hit me. I was living in a world with magic. Beautiful, practical, terrifying, dangerous, magical _magic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get a LOTR nod in there. Oh Boromir!


	5. Chapter 5

Dorian soon introduced me to more members of the Inquisition, with Solas following silently behind. The dwarf Varric Tethras had a touch of humour to his voice when he offered me his entire written works as ‘learning material', and I enjoyed his argument with Solas about first-hand sources, even if I had no idea who the Champion of Kirkwall was. Ambassador Josephine Montilyet offered to tutor me in the nobility of Thedas and generally how not to make a complete arse of myself in public, a proposition I accepted immediately and enthusiastically. But most crucially, she and set me up with a modest stipend so I could purchase more clothes. She even ran back to her quarters to get me a spare hairbrush. I could have cried with happiness.

I was soon surrounded by people, shaking hands and forgetting names. Solas stood by like an ever-present shadow watching me closely while Dorian flitted around, dragging yet more people over to meet me. There were so many faces, so many eager smiles that it was overwhelming. That familiar cold sweat was starting to cling to my back. Swallowing hard, I caught Solas’ eye and he started to push himself towards me. God, why was this happening? This anxiety was crippling me. It felt like I couldn't _breathe_.

And then a whirlwind of a girl clattered into the hall, laughing so hard she could barely tell us what was so funny. Her blonde hair looked as if someone had cut it with sheep shears and it did little to cover her long, elven ears. Her piggish nose was wrinkled in laughter that creased her bright, brown eyes. She looked like she was dressed as a court jester, like a red and gold chess board. She wasn’t as slim as some of the elves I’d seen, still slender of course but she had a trace of cleavage under her laced tunic.

“And then yeah, well there were _pies_ , yeah? It was soo funny a bit wee came out!”

Her Derbyshire accent seemed so at odds with this medieval setting that it threw me, bringing a ghost of a smile to my mouth. It was an accent I hadn’t heard since I was at Primary school. Solas let out a long, exasperated sigh and shook his head. “Sera, this is Rosie, please do not play any of your pranks on her”.

“You,” she glared at Solas, “Baldy, don’t get to pick who I don’t play pranks on alright?”

I tried to stifle my laughter but it snorted out of my nose. _Baldy!_  Sera looked at me, the playful laughter fading from her voice. “So you just fell out of the Fade like nobody's business? Like the Inquisitor, except shite because you don't have a glowy hand and you can't save the world. If you're another Creepy then I'm leaving”.

Though she shrugged her shoulders and sounded like she didn’t care, there was a hard edge to her eyes and a slight tremble to her voice. I had been so focused on my own fear that I hadn’t stopped to think about how the people here would feel about _me_. It was almost as though Sera was scared.

I lowered my head and peeked at her from under my lashes with a half-smile quirked on my lips. “So I can't save the world and I don't have a glowy hand or even know what else you were talking about, but I bet I could out-prank you any day”. I’d been to boarding school, I knew all the best tricks.

Her eyes lit up once more and she giggled, the dirtiest, most inelegant laugh I’d even heard. “Alright,” she nodded enthusiastically. “So you’re _people_ , yeah?”

My brow creased. People? What did she mean? “Yeah, I think so? How do you know?”

“Pfft, you’re people alright. So, there’s this thing yeah, where the newbies buy all the drinks? So I’ll see you in the tavern later. ‘sides, you need to spend less time with elfy elves if you wanna to have any fun!”

As quickly as she had arrived Sera whirled away again, cackling to herself while she left the rest of us scratching our heads.

“Yeah, Buttercup's a bit of a puzzle at times but she’s handy with a bow and at least her aim is _nearly_ as good as mine,” Varric said with a chuckle. “If you’re heading to the tavern later I might just join you Freckles”.

A shudder ran through me at the name. I’d spent most of my school years being teased for my freckles. I hated them. “Ugh, I thought you were a writer Varric, can’t you come up with anything more original?”

“What?” he asked with a smile. “Don't you think her freckles are cute, Josie?”

A blush crept up Josephine’s olive-skinned neck and cheeks, tinting her tanned skin pink. “Well, I—Of course”.

I rolled my eyes as Varric smirked mischievously. “Alright, I’ll work on it. I might even get the first round in”.

I grinned and Solas caught my eye, giving me a look that I couldn't quite decipher. Concern? Caution? “Will you be coming too, Solas?” I asked hopefully. I’d never had any problems walking into a room on my own but he was the only person here that I had known for more than a handful of minutes. It would be nice to get to know him, too.

“Let me guess,” Dorian interrupted. “You have a date with a dusty tome, or is it your paintbrushes this time? No no, you’re washing your hair”. Solas didn't even bother responding as Dorian turned towards me. “Rosie, since the socially impaired elf is unavailable, perhaps I could escort you?”

I nodded, “Sure, sounds like a plan”.

***

The tavern was too much. Too many people, too much noise, too many smells. Everyone was clamouring to be heard, no least of which the singer who was gently strumming what could only be a lute. The song was low and mournful, peppered with religious references I could barely tie back to what I’d learned so far of the blessed Andraste. If this was the sort of music they play in pubs then I’d hate to hear what the people of Thedas play at funerals.

When Dorian and I walked in, the noise had calmed and people had turned to stare. Dorian bowed low to the ground, then yelled, “Whose round is it?” Thankfully, people went back to their conversations, giving me a chance to gawk at them all. The people in here were shades different from the Orlesians that cluttered the great hall. They were rowdy, ruddy people. Or perhaps they were the _people_ Sera had made reference to. At home, I never would have set foot on a street containing such a rough pub as this, preferring to spend my nights in wine and cocktail bars. But the tavern seemed clean enough and the handcrafted wooden tables and chairs were quite cute if you ignored the alcohol stains and crude carvings. At least it had table service.

I couldn’t help but spot Iron Bull in the corner, laughing with a group of men and women, humans and elves. He drew not just my attention, and I could see people glancing at him from the corner of their eyes. I didn’t know if Qunari were few and far between or if it was just that Iron Bull was an unusual specimen. A few of the waitresses in particular seemed to hover around him, hanging on his every word. I didn’t know how to feel about what that suggested.

Dorian walked over to an empty table near the bar where Varric was already sitting. Sera came bounding down the stairs with a wide grin on her face. “Newbie’s buying, yeah? Let’s drink everything until things make sense again”.

“Beat you to it, Buttercup, here,” Varric said, handing me a goblet of deep, red wine. I’d never been much of red a wine drinker but this didn’t smell like any wine I’d had before. It was deliciously floral and sweet and I drank like a fish out of water. It didn’t even seem to be all that strong until I was two glasses in and I began to feel that tell-tale warmth of tipsiness.

For the most part, Varric, Sera and Dorian talked amongst themselves about recent goings on; the places they’d been, the people they’d saved, idle gossip about what might be next on the Inquisitor's agenda. There was even talk of the Inquisition attending a ball at an actual real-life palace! I was happy to just listen to their stories, letting the feel of the place wash over me. It was only when they mentioned the horrors they’d faced that I had to mentally take a step back and remind myself of where I was. Varric and his red templars, Sera and her noblemen, Dorian and his Venatori; I balked at every word they said.

“You shhhhould've seen the look on ‘is face!” Sera said with glee. She was already half-cut and slurring her words. “Bam! Two arrows, right in the bollocks. That’ll teach ‘im, yeah?”

Sure, I’d watched the news, heard stories about war but I’d never lived it. Never even knew anyone who’d lived it. It was as if I’d spent my life walking around connected to an intravenous bag of anaesthetic, numb to the world. Waking up here had cut off my supply. “Did he live?” I asked, betraying my naïveté.

“Heh, are you for real? Course he didn’t live!” Sera took a long swig of her drink. “See, he was rollin' around with these arrows stickin' out like no one’s business, wailing about his manhood or summit. So I stuck another one right in his—“

“I think that’s enough, Sera," Varric cut in. "Rosie looks as if she's going to lose her dinner”.

I downed the rest of my drink in silence, praying my face don’t look as green as it felt.

“Hey, let me get you the next one,” came a low, rumbling voice from behind me. I turned and saw Iron Bull hovering almost timidly between the back of my chair and the bar. I noticed that his uncovered eye was a pale green. The corner of my mouth twitched as if it wanted to smile but just couldn’t quite make it, but I nodded at him and he shifted his large bulk onto the stool next to me. I didn’t even realise that I’d been holding my breath until I exhaled loudly, earning a curious glance from Dorian.

“So,” Iron Bull started. “You’re the new girl. How are you finding things?”

I swallowed hard. “Things are... Different,” I said diplomatically. “Look, I’m sorry about...you know...”

He smiled, letting out a huff of a laugh. “Happens more often than you’d think”. He leaned closer towards me, dropping his voice below the roar of the tavern until I could only just hear it. I resisted the urge to lean back, away from his huge frame. _He's just a normal person. A normal person... with horns and an eyepatch. PERFECTLY NORMAL!_

“So this world you’re from… No magic, huh?” he asked. I raised an eyebrow questioningly at him and he continued. “Don’t worry, Red knows but she wasn’t happy to hear it third hand”.

“Solas is reporting on me, and he didn’t tell her?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Hey kid, _everyone_ is reporting on you,” Iron Bull said with a small smile.

I looked around at the people sat at the table and nodded, remembering what Solas had said earlier. _Secrets are sold here like currency_.

A waitress placed a wooden cup in front of both me and Iron Bull and I was immediately hit with the strong, acrid smell of alcohol. It was such a stark contrast to the fruity wine I'd been drinking.

“What is this?” I asked Iron Bull, sniffing the fumes emanating from the cup. It smelled almost like vodka but... worse.

“Maraas-Lok, figured you’ve earned a glass,” he replied. “Careful though, it’ll put some chest on your chest!”

“Pfft, she already has enough chest on her chest!” Sera cackled from under the table.

I frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stuck her head up, clutching at the table as she tried to pick herself up. “Sss-nuffin, yeah? You’re just all…” She made an hourglass gesture with her hands. “You know. Bigger”.

My stomach dropped, breath coming quicker. “Bigger?”

Dorian, Varric and Iron Bull all seemed to become very engrossed in some story about a randy Dowager, all while refusing to look in my direction. At least men here were as predictable and clueless as back home. Sera pursed her lips as she tried again to stand up. “Yeah! But wait, no. Like, in a good way? There won’t be no clackity clack when you’re banging bits, that’s for sure”.

I was mortified. I had prided myself on being fit and trim; not too skinny but healthy and toned. I went to the gym three times a week, my diet consisted almost entirely of kale and lean protein, I hadn’t given in to chocolate in months and I tried to keep my binge drinking to a minimum. Sure, I didn’t have a thigh-gap like 99.99% of the population here and I was a _generous_ cup size larger than most women I’d seen but that didn’t make me fat, right? At least, I wasn’t fat unless I was standing next to an elf. Then I was almost certain that I looked morbidly obese.

Iron Bull gave me a sympathetic look and hefted the inebriated elf onto a stool. “You forget, Sera that most of the people here are refugees and are starving to death”.

Sera wobbled and clutched the table for support. “Heh, yeah. Can’t have no wobbly bits when you’re starving. Why can’t they just go shoot a ram or summin’? Thss-foods out there”.

My face was on fire, half from embarrassment and half from the alcohol. I gulped the maraas-lok down in one go, then grabbed Iron Bull’s drink and necked his too. It tasted like fire. Caustic fire, with a slight hint of death. Worse than the cheapest vodka, worse than even paint stripper. I coughed and stuttered, fighting to keep the spirit down while realising that drinking both glasses was a definite mistake. This was far stronger than any drink I'd ever had before, even the absinthe I'd tried one night that very nearly ended with having my stomach pumped. _Oh God._

“That was brave,” Varric muttered under his breath.

“Or stupid,” Dorian added. I couldn’t help but agree.

Things soon began to get hazy, a little blurry at the edges. I kept trying to blink the fog away but it was sweeping over me, making my limbs heavy and my tongue thick. My head felt like it had doubled in size, my ears unable to process sounds clearly. I had the good sense to stay quiet, nodding in what felt the appropriate moments, hoping the feeling would pass. That was until I felt the tingle of magic brush past me.

It was moving, fluid and smooth all around the tavern. The trail ended in a man. A young, blonde man with a dark hat. He appeared out of nowhere, then vanished into the crowd just to appear elsewhere. He whispered in people’s ears, gently stole their swords and poured water in their drinks.

“Who is that? There, in the hat?” I asked Varric, pointing a shaking finger towards the stranger.

Varric looked between Dorian and Iron Bull with a guarded expression on his face. “There’s no one there, Rosie. No one in here’s wearing a hat”.

And then the ghost looked directly at me. That’s when I knew I was fucked.

It tried to stand, tried to walk over towards him but my legs wouldn't cooperate. My muscles bunched and I found myself twisted, staring at the underside of the table. 

Strong arms hooked themselves around me and I felt myself being lifted from the floor. I struggled weakly against Iron Bull, feeling trapped within his grasp, the musky smell of him overpowering my senses. I felt the rise and fall of his walk, then the sting of the ice cold air hitting me as he carried me out of the tavern.

“I can walk you know,” I muttered, the words melting into one another.

“Sure you can, but this is quicker than me trying to catch you when you stumble off the battlements. Less paperwork, too”.

My head lolled backwards, my eyes watering in the cold air as I caught my first glimpse of the night sky. The stars swayed and shifted with every step. “Everything’s backwards,” I mumbled, my tongue loosening.

I felt the roll of laughter hum inside his chest. “Usually is when your head’s upside-down”.

I struggled to right myself, to look into his green eye. “What if I can’t tell if I’m upside-down now, or if I was upside-down before?”

He paused, a strange expression on his face. “Philosophical drunk, huh?” Shifting my weight onto just one of his giant arms, he reached outwards and fumbled, trying to open my bedroom door. I didn’t ask how he knew where I was staying. Once inside, he lay me gently on my bed, mumbled something about never letting me drink maraas-lok again, and then let me pass out in peace.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke to the sound of a rhythmic _thwacking_ that felt like it was happening inside my head, rather than outside my door. I collected myself enough to open my eyes, groaning at the wooden furniture and stone walls surrounding me. I was still in Thedas, still fully clothed in those buttery leggings, and I felt as though I had been dipped in a vat of that Qunari fire-water. Getting absolutely trollied on my second day in this place was clearly not my best idea and I hoped to God that I hadn’t made a fool of myself given that I could barely remember a thing. I sat up slowly, massaging my temples with my cold fingertips, absolutely dreading my trip across the room to the jug of water that would ease my thirst. But as I looked over, I noticed several items now lay on my dresser, things I was positive hadn’t been there last night. A vial, a pile of clothes and a note. Maybe someone came in when I was at the pub? That was infinitely less creepy than someone coming in and noseying around while I was sleeping. Tentatively, I padded my way across the floor and picked up the thick, yellowing parchment. The note was short, the script was small and cursive with dramatic flourishes on all the ‘L’s which made my name look little more than a curly squiggle. 

* * *

          Lady Llewellyn,

          I humbly request your presence in my office at your earliest convenience.

 

          Yours,

          Ambassador Montilyet

* * *

Perfect. Just what I needed, an actual _summons_. I didn’t even know where the stupid office was! At least I recognised the vial as an elfroot tonic and knocked it back, feeling my hangover recede immediately.

Pouring myself a cup of water from my pitcher, I examined the clothes. The floor-length outfit felt as though it was made from a soft cotton, though the embroidered bodice had the hard edges of boning underneath. The separate skirt was full and heavy, with layer upon layer of whisper-thin tulle. The colours swirled between the dark forest green, white and black with silver detailing. And then, there was an honest-to-God corset. Sighing to myself, I dreaded the thought of dressing. What I wouldn’t give to have my wardrobe from home. God, I had so many clothes. And shoes. And accessories. Black strapless jumpsuit, statement necklace and patent heels? Check. 70s style wide leg trousers, white cropped top and wide-brimmed hat? Check. High-waisted short shorts, My Little Pony body suit and sky high wedges? Check. The coral pencil skirt, gypsy blouse and nude courts I’d been wearing that last night on Earth? Oh, how I wished for clothes.

I huffed and looked around for a washcloth to try and clean myself with. That’s when I noticed the tub was filled, the water still lukewarm. So they had been sneaking around while I was passed out. The thought made my skin crawl. Still, I took great pleasure in washing the grime off my skin and running Josephine’s brush through my hair. And it only took three and a half attempts, a lot of twisting, turning, pulling and breathing in before I thought I had the outfit on right. I felt a little bit like Medieval-Barbie, all cinched and busty. Though I though my waist had probably never looked better, the neckline was so high and restricting, the fabric pulled tight against my corseted chest. I felt like I was being choked. How did women ever move around like this? Well, at least the insane amount of layers meant that I'd be warm.

Making my way outside into the midday sun (jeez, I must have been out of it!), I found that the _thwacking_ noise appeared to be coming from a woman shredding a dummy with her sword in the courtyard immediately below my room. Left, right, chest, head, again. There was nothing flashy about the display; none of the twirling or leaping or fancy footwork you’d see in films, but she didn’t hold back as she placed her hits. Bits of straw stuffing were flying everywhere as she decapitated the target but she didn’t even slow as she moved onto the next one. I wondered if women were commonplace in the army here, if a skilled swords-woman like this was normal. I wondered how many dummies she'd destroyed and whose job it was to mend the ones that were repairable. I was so enthralled by the display that I barely registered the heeled shoes clacking across the stone towards me.

“Lady Llewellyn, you’re finally awake,” the accented voice said. “And your… your skirts are on backwards”.

I grinned sheepishly at Josephine, an embarrassed flush creeping across my cheeks, and shuffled the skirt around my waist. “Sorry, I, er, well I’ve never had that type of alcohol before. Or worn this type of outfit, either”.

She took my arm and steered me towards the great hall. “Of course,” she smiled. “You must tell me all about the clothing from your world. Your… undergarments sound absolutely fascinating”.

I blanched. “Wait, what? Undergarments?” I asked, trying not to sound so shrill.

I saw a small smile edge up her lips and a slight blush appear on her olive skin. “Yes, Leliana told me that you wore no corset or breastband when you arrived, but a more… unusual garment”.

Of course Leliana would know what I'd been wearing. I swallowed my awkwardness, a small fragment of Catholic shame still buried deep within me. “It’s called a bra. People where I'm from used to wear corsets and hooped skirts and dresses with whale bones in but they… they developed more comfortable things”. I picked the skirts up and waved them around. “This outfit is like something from, I dunno, 400 years ago. Maybe the Elizabethan era? The style is just so old fashioned. I’d only ever wear something like this to a costume party”. From the look on Josephine’s face, I’d definitely said the wrong thing. She was horrified, and possibly a little upset at the remarks. “But the craftsmanship really is excellent, better than anything found on Earth,” I backtracked, relieved when the offended look on her face calmed.

I was grateful when Josephine started talking about banal things such as how I was settling in, how fortunate they were that no blizzards had hit and how pleased she was that more merchant goods were arriving with relative ease. She led me through the grand hall to a cosy looking office with plush leather chairs and mahogany furniture. Josephine sat behind a sturdy looking desk with neat piles of parchment laid over the surface. I took a seat in a deep leather armchair and looked around in awe of the sumptuous furniture; I gawked at the filled bookshelves, the thick patterned rug, even the colourful feather quills and jewel-like glass bottles of ink lying on her desk. Though I tried to breathe through it, I was acutely aware of how the boning in the corset and bodice were digging into my ribs now that I'd sat down. I promised myself that my first purchase would be another pair of leggings and a tunic.

Within moments of us settling down, the door opened and in came a serving girl carrying a tray filled with cups, a teapot and even tiny little cakes. I recognised the woman as human straight away, and not just because of her rounded ears. I was starting to notice the more subtle differences between the races; the elongated fingers and necks of the elven, the straighter, taller spines of the humans, even the wider range of eye and hair colours of the elven, and the slightly better quality clothes of the humans.

“Ahh, tea,” Josephine said, clapping her hands together. She fished through the piles of paperwork and handed a note to the serving woman, then set about pouring the tea. She pushed a thin, creamy coloured china teacup towards me and I caught the scent; it was bitter and smoky, almost medicinal. I took a small sip and fought the urge to spit it back out. I had thought that green tea was the worst tea imaginable, but clearly I was wrong.

“Is Arbor Blessing tea not to your taste?” Josephine asked. “There is honey to sweeten it, if you’d prefer?”

I gave her a half-smile. “I’m just used to tea that tastes a little… different, that’s all”. _Different as in nice, like the sweet bergamot of Earl Grey._

Her lips pursed, “A cake then? These are from the very best patisserie in Orlais. Oh, Madam de Fer might argue that the pastries from Jacques are better but I disagree”.

I winced as a flashback of Sera waving her arms in an hourglass shape came to the front of my mind. “No, thank you,” I said, taking another sip of the strong tea. If I could get used to green tea, I could get used to this. I barely even grimaced on the third sip.

I settled the cup back upon its saucer and took a deep breath, finally asking what I’d been dying to know this whole time. “So, I’m really _really_ grateful for all you’ve done for me, but why did you want to see me?”

Josephine’s smile was so warm and genuine that for a second, she reminded me of my friends at home. “It is the least we could do after all you’ve been through, Lady Llewellyn. It is not so often that we receive guests from other worlds and we are very excited to host you here and learn your customs. The Inquisition wants you to be comfortable”.

I let out a small, uncomfortable laugh. “And what does the Inquisition want in return?” I asked softly, a sinister _quid pro quo, Clarice_ whispering through my mind.

“Leliana tells me that you were employed as a bookkeeper previously, and Maker knows that the Inquisition’s finances could use a second pair of eyes”. She looked a little abashed as she went on, “Though I have managed my family’s finances for a number of years now, I must admit that the scale of this enterprise has me a little… well, overwhelmed”.

I looked at her incredulously. She wanted me to review the books? Without a computer or calculator? That terrified me almost more than the thought of a magic-wielding half-zombie coming to kill us all. But I understood numbers. And a job would keep me busy, earn me an income. But it would mean less time to study magic, to try and find a way back home. I scrunched my eyes up and rubbed the bridge of my nose, warring with myself over my need to learn and the horrifying thought that if I was here for any length of time, I’d need financial stability.

After debating with Josephine, I eventually agreed to an initial trial run, almost like a version of reduced hour contract; I’d spend my mornings reviewing the finances, leaving my afternoons free to read in the library.

 

***

 

I left Josephine's office feeling exhausted and, in some small way, like I'd sold my soul. She had explained that my first task would be to collect invoices from Commander Cullen, and that he'd been expecting me a number of hours ago. I raised my eyebrow at her presumptions but made no comment. It did, however, make me think that perhaps she was a slight more on the calculating side than I'd initially thought but still nowhere near Leliana's levels. Josephine even gave me a small, warm hug after she directed me to the Commander's office.

Following her directions to the letter, I was led across an archway that overlooked the busy courtyard. Only, outside what was the Commander's office were two burly looking soldiers, their heavily armoured gloves clutching spears crossed in front of the wooden door, barring the way.

“The Commander is not taking visitors today,” one of them said, their accent thick and hard to place.

“I’m not visiting,” I said with a frown. “I’m here to collect his paperwork”.

The soldiers looked at each other sceptically, but withdrew their spears.

As soon as I opened the door, I could see why the soldiers were blocking it. The Commander was drowning in paperwork. It was stacked in haphazard piles all over the room, sheets rolling around in the breeze created from the open door.

A faint voice came calling from the upstairs, “Maker’s breath! What is it _now_?”

I rolled my eyes at the disembodied voice and tiptoed my way around the room, picking up sheets of parchment here and there, trying to find anything that might look like an invoice amongst the chicken-scratches that were apparently reports. The office was nowhere near as nice as Josephine's. It was the epitome of _functional_. They hadn't even wasted the space for stairs. Sturdy brown leather boots made their way down a ladder, followed by a man dressed in full armour and… were those fur pauldrons? Or a feathery cloak-jumper-thing? The man underneath the armour looked to be in his mid-thirties with blonde wavy hair and a hard glint in his golden-brown eyes. He looked like he was one of those men who spend hours lifting weights in the gym, except the Commander didn’t get his physique from lifting, he carved it through swinging the heavy-looking broadsword attached to his belt. He was so… _masculine_ , so classically handsome that it made me nervous. His jawline was hazy with stubble, his eyes were heavy with tiredness and he was looking at me like I’d just ruined his day. His fist tightened around a balled up piece of parchment and the beginnings of a sneer was curling at his scarred lip as his eyes flitted between the papers in my hand, my pursed lips and the floor. But when his eyes did catch mine, my breath hitched.

“Are you Commander Rutherford?” I asked hesitantly.

His gaze met my eyes for a brief second, then settled back on the floor. “Yes, and you are?”

“Rosie, Rosie Llewellyn,” I said, rooted in place between the dusty bookshelf and the desk.

“Ahh, the… new girl”. He coughed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re early,” he said bluntly, moving between the papers to place himself behind his desk.

“Actually I’m a good few hours late,” I said with a half-smile. “I-er, slept in”.

“Maraas-lok has that effect on a lot of people, so I hear,” the Commander said, his scowl lessening slightly.

I could feel the heat sweep across my cheeks immediately as I turned pink with embarrassment for the millionth time that day. “Yeah, I won’t be drinking that again any time soon”. I looked around the room and the chaotic piles of parchment and asked, “So which pile is the invoices? I can't really tell since they all look different”.

A guilty smile crept over him, erasing the stern glare in his eyes, softening his grimace. “Well, you see—the problem is that--” The commander sighed loudly and gripped at edge of his desk. His eyes flitted up again, this time settling decidedly on my chest before darting back to whatever spot on the floor that seemed to be so interesting. “I’m just no good at paperwork!" He exclaimed. "Put me in the middle of the newest recruits and I’ll make sure those soldiers get the best training in all of Thedas. Ask me to write a report about it, well…”

The sentence hung in the air as my eyes wildly traced the carpet of documents, an ever-growing sinking feeling in my stomach. “But what do all these different stacks mean? Are they sorted alphabetically? Thematically?” No response. “Colour co-ordinated?!” I shrieked.

The Commander just shrugged. “I though smaller piles might make it easier to deal with…”.

Great. He was even _worse_ than the typical shoe-box-full-of-receipts-at-tax-year-end type of client. I shook my head at him and he gave me a look that instantly reminded me of a puppy-dog who knew he'd done wrong but was just so Goddamned cute that you couldn't scold him. My stomach flipped as he stared at me. This was going to be a _very_ long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry for the delay. I have a list of excuses a million miles long but it's mostly work sapping my mojo. Hopefully this isn't _too_ bad.  
>  Oh, and spot the silence of the lambs ref.


End file.
